


Lasting Impressions

by FillorianHighKink



Series: Control [1]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Gentle Dom Eliot Waugh, Kink Exploration, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:27:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26091868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FillorianHighKink/pseuds/FillorianHighKink
Summary: It all starts when Eliot notices the pattern."I don’t wanna come yet,” Quentin sometimes says, and, “Stop, you’re gonna make me come.”Tonight, it’s, “Wait, wait, I’m getting close.”
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: Control [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1894435
Comments: 57
Kudos: 136





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime after the events of the show with Quentin alive, so take that as AU if you must.

It all starts when Eliot notices the pattern.

“I don’t wanna come yet,” Quentin sometimes says, and, “Stop, you’re gonna make me come.”

Tonight, it’s, “Wait, wait, I’m getting close.”

“Jesus, Q.” Eliot tilts his forehead against Quentin’s and feels the sweat slide between them as he stills the motion of his hips. Stilling with his cock fully seated inside Quentin isn’t the worst scenario, but he’d kinda been working toward something. “Sometimes I think you don’t even wanna come.”

“I do! God, no, I absolutely do, it’s just--it feels so good if I can hold it back for a while. Draw it out.”

A switch flips in Eliot’s brain. He’s been reading Quentin all wrong. Pushing when he should have been nudging.

He resumes the movement of his hips, just shallow strokes to get them moving again. He trails a finger, feather-light, over Quentin’s cock where it stands up against his belly. “I can help with that. Make it last. Is that what you want?”

“God,” Quentin says, tossing his head back and straining his hips toward the too-soft touch of Eliot’s finger. “Yes, please.”

“Tell me when you’re close, okay? I’ll make it good for you.”

Quentin nods. “You always do.”

Eliot flips through his mental catalog of Touches Quentin Likes, and every time it looks like he may be closer to the edge, he switches things up, moving from Quentin’s cock to a different form of stimulation. He gives some attention to all of Quentin’s hotspots, including his nipples, his neck, his bellybutton. All the while, he fucks him steadily, knowing that if he gets himself too worked up, he won’t be able to focus on what Quentin needs.

“How are you feeling?” Eliot asks, his voice rumbling, after another few minutes pumping Quentin’s cock and then moving off. This whole thing is getting to Eliot way more than he would’ve expected.

“Amazing,” Quentin says, his voice a bit breathless. He paws at Eliot’s sides. “I want you to come.”

And that’s almost all it takes, Quentin’s affirmation that Eliot has, in fact, made it good for him. He pulls out until only the head of his cock is inside Quentin’s ring of muscle, then slides back in, repeating the motion at increasing speeds until his hips are pumping a rhythm of their own.

Quentin’s moans fueling him, Eliot grabs at Quentin’s cock. “You ready to come? Yeah? Come for me, baby.”

Quentin’s pleasure gets tangled up with his own, the two of them shouting so loud it reflects back off the sound-dampening wards as they grab at each other and come and come.

When Eliot comes back to himself enough to be more than a useless lump on top of Quentin, he finds Quentin looking back at him, a smile on his face and his eyes bright with tears. “How do you always know what I need?” Quentin asks.

“It helps when you tell me,” Eliot says, and wipes a tear away from Quentin’s eye. Quentin gives a little self-deprecating laugh. “I know, easier said than said.”

“Exactly,” Quentin says, and kisses Eliot sweetly.

“Let me go get something to clean us up.” Eliot presses a kiss to the corner of Quentin’s eye before standing. He opts for a soft washcloth today, instead of any form of magic. It just feels more appropriate.

He wipes the tear tracks from Quentin’s face first, leaning in to kiss his cheeks. He repeats the action as he cleans his way down Quentin’s chest, leaving kisses where the cloth has just been. After he cleans Quentin’s soft cock carefully, he places one kiss to the head, thrilling at the way Quentin jerks in response.

He’s less careful about cleaning himself up, more just making sure nothing is going to get sticky or uncomfortable. Satisfied, he gets back into bed and pulls Quentin into his arms.

“You’re spectacular,” Quentin says. “Have I told you that lately?”

“It never hurts to be reminded,” Eliot says, grinning. “You’re pretty amazing yourself, you know.”

Quentin wrinkles his nose. “I don’t know about that.”

“Hey,” Eliot admonishes, swatting at his arm. “Don’t you dare insult my boyfriend.”

“You’re right. Your boyfriend is pretty cool.”

“Well, I didn’t say ‘cool’.”

“Fine, fine,” Quentin says, laughing. “Your nerdy boyfriend has been known to get a few things right, on occasion.”

“Better, but we’ll work on that.”

Quentin presses his grin into Eliot’s shoulder before shifting it to a kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new tags: Light Dom/sub, Orgasm Control, Praise Kink

Edging becomes a regular thing that they do. Not all the time, but often enough. Sometimes they plan ahead, Eliot clearing half of his day to keep attention on Quentin just enough to have him teetering on the edge for hours. Other times, they’re just fooling around before one of them suggests that they try to drag it out a bit more.

They’ve been having a lazy evening, Quentin tucked into the corner of the couch with a book while Eliot sits next to him and watches an episode of _Outlander_. When the episode ends, though, Quentin shows no signs of stopping his reading, even when Eliot leans over to press kisses into his neck.

“You’re not as distracting as you think you are,” Quentin says, turning the page.

Taking that as a challenge, Eliot shifts gears a little. He urges Quentin out of his curled up position so that his feet hit the floor, and then he goes for his fly. He massages his hand steadily over Quentin’s cock--which is already a step away from soft, Eliot notes--while he goes back to nip at the pulse point in Quentin’s neck.

Still, Quentin says, “I’m still going to finish this chapter.”

He’s egging Eliot on, but it’s more fun than frustrating. Eliot decides to take the bait, growling against Quentin’s ear before moving to the floor and yanking Quentin’s pants and underwear down several inches.

He proceeds to give Quentin one of his sloppier blowjobs, taking his cock into his mouth over and over without care for how much he drools in the process. It’s not long before he hears Quentin curse under his breath, and he doesn’t hear the turning of pages again.

“You’re such a shit,” Quentin says, both hands sliding into Eliot’s hair, which means the book has officially been set aside.

Eliot hums the best apologetic noise he can manage with a cock in his mouth, then gets a tug on his hair for his trouble. “Whatever, just don’t stop,” Quentin says.

So Eliot doesn’t, listening for Quentin’s little sharp breaths to cue into what he’s in the mood for as he works his cock.

“Okay, now stop,” Quentin says a bit later. “I really wanna kiss you.”

“Oh, so _now_ you wanna kiss me,” Eliot says, helping Quentin the rest of the way out of his pants and underwear.

Quentin’s kiss is filthy, licking at the wetness around Eliot’s mouth before licking inside. They separate just long enough to get rid of their shirts before leaning back into the kiss. Eliot transitions easily to fisting Quentin’s cock, twisting at the head on the occasional upstroke, but Quentin reaches out to stop him before long.

Eliot smiles. “You want me to draw it out?”

“Can we?” Quentin asks, as if Eliot has ever refused him.

Eliot makes a considering noise, and then, as if he hasn’t been thinking about this for weeks, he asks, “What if I just… told you not to come? Could you do that?”

Quentin breathes in sharply, and his cock twitches in Eliot’s hand. “I could try.”

“I don’t want you to try,” Eliot says, encouraged by Quentin’s response. “I want you to wait.”

“Fuck, okay, just, hang on,” Quentin says as he pushes Eliot’s hand away to grasp the base of his cock.

“That’s it.” Eliot skims a hand down Quentin’s chest. “You can be good for me.”

“Oh fuck,” Quentin says, and his knuckles whiten where he’s gripping his cock, trying to hold off his orgasm. Eliot can do nothing but watch in delight. “Okay, just--yeah. I can.”

Eliot knows that it’s not that simple, that he’ll have to pay close attention to Quentin’s responses to help him keep that promise, but he loves the fact that Quentin got on board with him that quickly.

He stands up from the couch to strip the rest of the way, taking his time when he sees Quentin’s eyes on him. “Stretch out on your stomach for me.”

He pumps his own cock as he watches Quentin do as he asks, amazed by this man and how perfect he continues to be for Eliot.

Once Quentin settles, Eliot straddles his legs. He starts by running his nails down Quentin’s back, not hard, just enough pressure to scratch an itch. He takes it from Quentin’s little _mm_ that it feels good, so he does it again, this time continuing his way over Quentin’s ass.

He summons some massage oil from a nearby shelf and gets to work, massaging the kinks out of Quentin’s shoulders and smoothing his way down his back. He’s working his thumbs over Quentin’s ass, thinking about spreading him, when he catches a downward thrust of Quentin’s hips against the couch cushions.

“Q,” he admonishes. “If this couch gets to see you come before I do, I am not going to be happy.”

“Sorry,” Quentin whimpers, shuddering a little. “I’ll be good,” he says, then buries his head in his arms as if to hide from what he just said.

“I know you can,” Eliot says warmly. He wets his thumb with more oil, spreading Quentin open and circling the pad around the rim of his hole before dipping inside. A high whine escapes Quentin, muffled by the couch. “Hey, come on, I want to hear you,” Eliot says, rubbing his free hand encouragingly over Quentin’s side.

“Feels so good,” Quentin says, turning his head and settling again.

“Yeah? You ready for my fingers?”

“Honestly not sure,” Quentin says, laughing. “But I want them.”

Eliot slicks up his middle and ring fingers. “Tell me if it gets to be too much,” he says, starting slowly with just his middle finger. He sees Quentin bite his lip from where his head’s still turned, but he stays still as directed. After giving Quentin time to adjust, he adds the second finger, noticing Quentin’s breath quicken.

He’s sliding them in and out slowly when Quentin’s hips give a sharp jerk as he rubs against the couch again.

“Sorry,” Quentin says before Eliot can even call him on it. “I can’t help it, I can’t keep still.”

“It’s okay,” Eliot assures him, resting a hand at the top of his back where his shoulder blades meet. He pulls his fingers out and sits up, taking his weight off Quentin. “Sit up for me, on your knees. That’s it,” he says as Quentin moves, “lean forward and hold the armrest? _Very_ good.” He slides his fingers inside again, and when Quentin’s hips jerk, he doesn’t find that friction he had before. “You’re going to earn this orgasm.”

Quentin whimpers, fucking himself back on Eliot’s fingers.

“You want another?” Eliot asks.

“ _God_ yes,” Quentin says, breathless.

More oil, and then he’s pushing three fingers inside. Quentin takes it so well, every time. Eliot can’t wait to get his cock inside him. But first, he has to make sure Quentin is ready, and with every movement of his fingers, he can tell that Quentin is getting close to coming.

He moves carefully, trying not to do anything overstimulating, but this wouldn’t be the first time Quentin came from his fingers alone. Once he’s satisfied that Quentin is ready, he pulls his hand away and summons a condom.

“Eliot, please, I’m not gonna make it,” Quentin says, reaching his hands back toward Eliot’s thighs and _squeezing_.

“Shh, you’re okay, you’re doing great,” Eliot says, sliding his cock along Quentin’s ass with just the slightest bit of pressure. He places his hands on Quentin’s chest to hold him still, pressed up against Eliot. “Just breathe.”

They breathe together for a minute, _in, out_ , as Quentin’s grip eventually slackens, _in, out_ , and Eliot rocks slowly against the cleft of Quentin’s ass. He kisses the shell of Quentin’s ear. “I’m going to put my cock inside you,” he says softly, right against Quentin’s ear, “and you’re going to feel so lovely and full, and then I’m going to let you come, and it will be so worth it.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Quentin says, his voice shaking enough to make it a multi-syllable word.

He slips the condom on, hands shaking the slightest bit where he’s glad Quentin can’t see. He lines up the head of his cock with Quentin’s hole before saying, “Breathe with me.” He inhales loudly and watches Quentin match him, then pushes in slightly before the exhale. Again, they breathe in together, Eliot moves, then they breathe out. “You feel amazing, Q, keep going,” he says, and they continue until Eliot can go no farther.

He clutches Q to his chest again, the two of them still matching their breathing even though they’re otherwise still. “Please,” Quentin says again, and Eliot kisses the back of his neck.

“I’m going to fuck you now. You can come whenever you’re ready.”

It’s a relief for both of them when Eliot starts to move, with Quentin free to succumb to his orgasm and Eliot knowing he got him there. Eliot doesn’t think he’ll last long, especially when Quentin shouts his name and starts to come. “That’s it, you did so good for me,” Eliot says, and Quentin moans even louder.

He gets lost in a haze of desire after that, fucking his cock into Quentin fast and sure alongside Quentin’s encouraging noises. The emotional buildup of the evening seems to crash over him in waves as Quentin takes him so perfectly, pushing back into every thrust. He slows his rhythm when he feels his orgasm building, wanting to feel every second of it. Quentin grabs at his thigh again, mumbling something about making it good for him too, and that’s what sends him over the edge.

It’s too good, sometimes, with Quentin. Better than Eliot deserves. He takes a deep breath before pulling out, then finds himself repeating the sentiment out loud.

To Eliot’s surprise, Quentin laughs as he turns over. “I was just thinking the same thing, but about what _I_ deserve.” At Eliot’s frown, he continues, “I know, this is the part where you tell me not to insult your boyfriend.”

Eliot leans in to kiss him soundly. “Maybe we both have some stuff to work on.”

He pulls Quentin on top of him on the couch after he returns from disposing of the condom and spells them clean. He can think of nothing better after an amazing round of sex than his arms full of a sated, pliant Quentin. He pulls the blanket down from the back of the couch; the spell always leaves them a little chilly.

“So, that may have beaten our personal best,” Quentin says, resting his hip next to Eliot’s so that he can lean into him. “Top five for sure.”

“For sure,” Eliot agrees. He pushes Quentin’s hair back from his face gently, loving the way his eyes flutter shut at the touch. “You were incredible.”

Quentin bites his lip on a smile. “I liked it. A lot.”

“Good. Me too.” He tilts Quentin’s chin up to kiss him, but he pauses when their eyes meet. Quentin’s gaze is full of such warm affection, it’s almost unsettling to Eliot, who for the longest time never expected anyone to love him longer than a weekend. “I love you,” he says. He wishes it didn’t sound like a revelation every time he said it, but Quentin doesn’t seem to mind.

Instead, Quentin seems to light up from within, his happiness visible as it flows through him. “I love you too, El, so much,” he says, and places his hand over Eliot’s heart as he kisses him.

And Eliot vows to himself that he’ll keep doing everything he can to deserve it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot is left alone with his thoughts for a few days. Quentin is good for him, and gets rewarded for it when he gets home.

Spring Break comes up on them fast, and Quentin decides to finally go help out Margo with a problem she’s been having in Fillory. Eliot loves his Bambi more than life, but he’s on a one-year therapist-suggested hiatus from Fillory, and he intends to keep it.

It’s a little harder to do, though, when both of the people he loves are there and he’s not.

“Keep me updated on the timeline,” Quentin says, picking up his duffle that includes a care package Eliot made for Margo. “Don’t let me stay more than five Earth days. I want to spend at least some of the break with you.”

Eliot pulls Quentin into his arms, breathing in the scent of him. Five days is nothing. He can check in with his clients and get some work done on his side projects. He’s not codependent at all.

“I’ll miss you,” Quentin says, craning his neck to kiss him. Eliot doesn’t say it back, but he pours enough feeling into the kiss that he thinks that Quentin knows.

He makes it a whole day in the silence of his own apartment before making an appointment with his therapist.

Dr. Winter is an old queer magician with a PhD in both Psychology and Empathic Magic, and Eliot may have stuck with him solely for the way he talked about ‘80s Pride during their first session.

Today’s exploration into Eliot’s psyche starts off with a recap of his boring-ass day, but quickly delves into his relationship with Quentin.

“I told him I loved him the other day, and it came out sounding like I was a bad actor in a stage play, even though it’s one of the truest things I’ve ever said.”

“How did Quentin react?”

“I mean, he said it back, but we’d just had some pretty amazing sex, and he’s also incapable of sounding anything but genuine when he’s feeling things, so.”

“So he didn’t have any trouble believing you.”

“No, but. There was the aforementioned mind-blowing sex.”

“What about it was mind-blowing?”

“Why Dr. Winter, looking for tips?”

He shoots Eliot an indulgent smile. “Boy, you may be able to talk to me about something I don’t know, but I am far from needing any tips.”

“He’s been really into edging lately,” Eliot says, a smile forming on his lips just thinking back. “I’m really into making him wait. He does so good for me.”

“So you’ve incorporated a power exchange into your sex life.”

Eliot blinks. He’d really only been bragging about his boyfriend, but. “Sure, yeah. Not like all the time, though. Just when he wants it.”

“And what about what you want?”

Eliot shrugs. “I’ve always been game for anything he wants to try. It’s no sacrifice on my part; he’s got some pretty good ideas.”

He watches Dr. Winter make a note aside from his normal notebook-or-whatever. “I’m going to send you contact info for a colleague of mine. He’s been a Dom for over twenty years. I’ll get in touch with him first, I’m sure he’ll be willing to help you with any questions you might have.”

Eliot’s eyebrows shoot up. “Thanks, but--it’s nothing that serious.”

“I’ll send you his info anyway,” Dr. Winter says, like maybe he can sense Eliot’s heart racing. “Your choice whether you want to use it.”

Eliot stares at the email on his phone when he receives it the next day. The guy’s name is Dan. What kind of name is that for a Dom? Dom Dan? Sounds fake.

Anyway, Eliot is not becoming a Dom. He’s not into pain, for one, and also that’s far too much responsibility.

The rest of the session with Dr. Winter had been good, though. He let slip the word ‘deserve’, and was made to list out all the things that he thought Quentin deserved from their relationship. His answers were half-serious, half-silly, ranging from “my cock, whenever he wants it” to “my undivided attention, when he’s ready to talk through a problem”. He should have predicted the doc turning the list back on him, but it was always easier to think about Quentin’s needs than his own. Surprisingly, everything on the list could apply to him too, even the one about Eliot’s cock.

They also talked about how Eliot couldn’t sit still in an apartment without Quentin around. They weren’t, apparently, as co-dependent as he’d feared - “if you were, you would’ve prioritized going with Quentin over staying out of Fillory for your own mental health.” And talking about it helped him realize he had plenty of stuff to do that didn’t revolve around Quentin.

So on the fourth day, he goes to see a movie (a thriller that Quentin would’ve hated, but at least it would’ve made him all clingy), does some shopping (maybe getting Quentin a few things), checks in with a few clients (the Sanderson wedding is coming up soon; he needs to make some follow-up calls for them), and generally manages not to miss Quentin too much until well into the evening.

He sends the messenger bunny to let Quentin know four days have passed, and gets the quick reply back: _Okay, thanks_.

To his surprise, though, a couple more messenger bunnies follow. _I’ve been practicing_ , says the first one, and Eliot tilts his head as he considers what that might mean. The second bunny provides clarity, _Holding back for you_.

“Fuck,” he says aloud, then puts the bunnies in the guest room so he can have a good jerkoff session to the thought.

After taking the edge off, he sends the bunnies back. _That’s amazing, Q,_ and _How long?_

_It’s been a week_ , the first answer comes, then, _But I’ve been good_.

“You guys are far too involved in our sex life,” Eliot tells the bunnies before sending his reply. _You’re doing so great._ _It’ll be worth it_.

_Coming home tomorrow_ , says a solo bunny this time. Eliot sends it back with the truth: _Can’t wait_.

***

It’s barely daybreak when Quentin shakes him awake. “Oh, hello,” Eliot mumbles, his lap suddenly full of Quentin.

Quentin, still decked out in Fillorian casual wear, leans down into his space and says a quick, “Hey,” before capturing Eliot’s mouth with his, sleep breath be damned.

Eliot stretches and lets himself come awake slowly, with Quentin’s weight settled across his legs and chest. He almost wishes he’d thrown off his briefs before falling asleep, so that he could feel his cock hardening against a fully-clothed Quentin.

“I missed you,” Quentin says, rubbing his clothed cock against Eliot’s hip as if to prove it.

“So I’ve heard,” Eliot says, trailing his fingers lightly over Quentin’s groin. “Over a week, huh? You must be dying for it.”

Quentin bites his lip and tries to push into Eliot’s touch, but Eliot pulls his hand away.

“You’ll have to allow me a minute or two. Someone woke me up from a dead sleep.” Quentin’s look is murderous. “You can always strip for me, if you want to move things along.”

Quentin looks eager then, and he hops up out of bed, already pulling at the hem of his shirt.

“Slowly, though,” Eliot prods him. “Let us both savor it.”

Quentin doesn’t listen at first, giving his shirt a good yank and tossing it aside. “You know I’m not sexy at this.”

Eliot rolls his eyes. “I know nothing of the sort. I’m not too fond of that attitude, either. Why would I want to fuck someone I didn’t think was sexy?”

“I’m not saying I can’t be sexy _ever_ , I’m just saying, I’m not good at the whole, you know, strip-tease thing,” Quentin says, putting exaggerated air quotes around ‘strip-tease’.

“You never know until you try.” Quentin huffs, and Eliot just laughs. Yeah, this is working for him. “Why don’t I help you out?”

Quentin still looks a bit petulant, but Eliot can see the interest light up his eyes.

“Undo your ties, but keep looking at me,” Eliot begins. Quentin fumbles at first and darts a look down to check one of the knots holding his pants up, but he scrambles to look back up per Eliot’s request. Eliot feels a little thrill at that. “Good, keep doing that. Why don’t you tell me some of the things you’ve been thinking about, while you’ve been… practicing.”

“I mean, you, mostly.” Quentin bites his lip. He glances down again, fingers clumsy over the other tie at his waistband. Eliot is about to remind him to look up, but Quentin does it before he can say the first word. “Pretty much like this, except, y’know. Without the underwear. Looking at me.” He licks his lips. “Touching yourself.”

“Good,” Eliot says, sliding a hand over his own dick both for the spark of friction and for the way Quentin’s eyes track the movement feverishly. “Now turn around and push your pants down over your hips.”

Quentin does as he’s told, revealing his pert ass in the grey boxer-briefs that Eliot is fairly sure are Quentin’s favorites.

“Mm, yes. Let them drop, and lean forward a bit.” He allows himself another massage over his own cock as Quentin complies, the underwear clinging to him just right as he bends forward. “Perfect. You can kick them off.”

“Eliot,” Quentin whines, straightening, his hands balling into fists at his side.

“What is it, baby? You wanna touch yourself? Wanna touch me?”

“Please.” The word comes out like a prayer.

“Soon, baby. So soon. I wanna see you first. Go on, push the band down next, only in the back this time.”

Quentin runs his hands under the waistband of his boxer briefs, starting from the front before sliding back. Eliot’s pretty sure he’s looking for a chance to touch his cock, but the touch would’ve been so fleeting it can’t have been satisfying. What _is_ satisfying is seeing Quentin’s ass revealed, the elastic of his underwear clinging below his cheeks, while Quentin moans and tries to push into the pulled-taut fabric in the front.

“Turn around for me now. That’s it.” Quentin’s lower lip is looking swollen from where he’s been biting it. Eliot licks his lips in anticipation of biting it himself. “Now push them off, I wanna see what’s been waiting for me.”

For all of Quentin’s posturing, he looks just like Eliot’s every wet dream dragging his boxer briefs down over his erection, holding it down until it springs free and stands up against his belly. He stumbles a little trying to pull them the rest of the way off, and Eliot feels his chest constrict with longing.

“Come here and help me now,” Eliot says.

Quentin returns eagerly, his hands going for Eliot’s briefs without hesitation. He pulls the elastic band with one hand, reaching inside with the other to grip the length of Eliot’s cock.

“Mm, yeah,” Eliot encourages. “See how hard I am, just from watching you? Told you that you were sexy.”

Quentin leans down and kisses him then, his tongue fucking into Eliot’s mouth and letting Eliot know just how worked up he is. As Quentin pulls blindly at his briefs, Eliot lifts his hips a bit so that they easily slide further down his legs. As soon as the material is out of the way, Quentin shifts to rub their exposed cocks together.

Eliot pulls out of the kiss and stills Quentin’s movements with a hand on his hip. “So eager,” Eliot rumbles against Quentin’s ear.

“God, I’m so hot for you, please touch me.”

“After how good you were, putting on that little show for me? I’m going to give you everything you want.” Eliot tugs the lobe of Quentin’s ear into his mouth; Quentin shudders at his touch. “On your back for me.”

After a few moments of shifting, Eliot takes his place atop Quentin; his heart races as he takes in the scene before him. Quentin’s skin is warm, almost overheated, everywhere they’re touching. Quentin is so turned on he’s practically incandescent. Eliot’s fingers itch for a camera to capture this moment in time, but he doesn’t think a picture would do it justice. He takes a moment to appreciate Quentin’s candor about edging, because there’s something so good about knowing Quentin is waiting for him. It’s entirely possible he could tell Quentin to come right now and he’d do it, without Eliot even touching him. But Eliot really wants to touch him.

He trails his hands over Quentin’s chest, smiling when Quentin shifts toward the touch. He leans down to lick over a nipple, then suck on it a little as Quentin utters a gasp of pleasure. He repeats the action on the other side, which gets him an even louder response. He leaves a hand on one nipple, pinching just a little, as he shifts his body further down and licks Quentin’s cock sloppily from root to tip.

“Eliot, please,” Quentin whines. “I haven’t come in eight days.”

“You’re okay. I’ve got you,” Eliot says, sliding his hand over to pinch the other nipple. “Just a little longer.”

He shifts focus then, gripping Quentin’s cock firmly at the base, one hand above the other to encircle Quentin’s full length. Quentin fucks up into his fist futilely, as Eliot maintains his grip, withholding the friction he’s seeking.

“I’m going to give you my mouth,” Eliot explains. “It’s going to feel really good, but I want you to wait for me to squeeze your hip, and then I want you to come for me. Can you do that?”

Quentin licks his lips. His chest is heaving and he’s red all over, looking more turned on than Eliot has ever seen him, and still he nods, agreeing to wait as Eliot has asked.

He moves one hand lightly, carefully, to rest over Quentin’s hip, and with the other he circles just his finger and thumb at the base of Quentin’s straining erection. “I bought you a cock ring,” Eliot says. His eyes flick up to meet Quentin’s. “For next time. Would you like that?”

Quentin’s eyes are wide and wild as he nods again.

Eliot fights against a frown, shifting his focus for a moment to reach out and tug Quentin’s bottom lip out from under the vice-like grip of his teeth. “Talk to me, Q. I want to hear you.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just-- I’ve been fantasizing about this all week, and I don’t want to ruin it by running my big mouth.”

“I’m a fan of your big mouth,” Eliot says, returning his hand to Quentin’s hip. “I consider it one of your better features, which is saying something.” Quentin doesn’t look like he believes him. “Why don’t you give me a sample of Q’s inner monologue while I work? Make it good for me so I can let you come.”

He moves into a good position, holding Quentin’s cock and pausing with his mouth a breath away from the head. He flicks his eyes up to Quentin’s expectantly and waits.

“God, okay,” Quentin says, releasing and re-fisting the sheets. “Um, well, I’m really kind of psyched about the cock ring, not gonna lie, that’s probably not surprising but--” he gasps as Eliot sucks him down, “--um! It’s just really fucking cool that you, like, _god_ , that you want what I want, or at least, that you’re willing to try.”

Eliot rubs along his hip, a movement that can’t be confused with the signal but hopefully shows his encouragement. He loves the sound of Quentin’s voice, especially when he’s turned on. He’s going to have to think of more rewards for talking during sex in the future. For now, he moves his mouth slowly over Quentin’s cock, making him feel good without letting him tumble over the edge just yet.

“How are you so good at making me feel good? _Fuck,_ ” as he pushes his hips up, up, seeking friction, but Eliot pulls off and takes his hand off Quentin’s hip. _Not yet_. “Sorry, I know, sorry,” Quentin continues, and after a moment, Eliot goes back to work, satisfied. “Jesus, I love to be good for you. Fuck. I hope that’s okay, like. You do so much for me, and it just feels so good to know what you want from me and then be able to _do it_. I know it’s, like, a lot probably, but--”

Eliot shifts down from teasing the head and opens his throat, taking Quentin to the back of his throat and squeezing his hip, hard.

“-- _fuck_ , but you make it so good,” Quentin gasps, his voice going high pitched as he allows his hips to move, fucking up into Eliot’s mouth and shooting down his throat. His monologue devolves into moans of pleasure that make Eliot’s cock twitch, so that he can’t help but reach down to fuck into his fist as he continues to work Quentin through his orgasm.

It’s unbelievable, how long Quentin seems to come, his whole body shaking and bending towards Eliot. Eliot feels a warm glow in his chest as he finally pulls off Quentin’s cock, proud to have done this. He stretches out to lay next to Quentin, resting his weight on one hip and happily accepting the kiss Quentin gives him.

He continues to work his hand over his cock slowly, appreciating the little noises and movements Quentin makes as he feels the aftershocks of his orgasm. When they break apart, Quentin whines a little, suddenly, and puts a hand on Eliot’s wrist. “You wanna take over?” Eliot asks.

“Yes please,” Quentin responds, a warm smile spreading across his lips. He licks his own hand enthusiastically before reaching down to grip Eliot’s cock.

“It’s ridiculous that you don’t know how hot you are,” Eliot says. “Now keep talking to me while you get me off.”

“Mm, can I kiss you again? First?”

“I suppose,” Eliot says, mock indulgent, before meeting him halfway. The mood of Quentin’s kiss has already shifted in the last thirty seconds, less desperate and more languid, as his pleasure has started to mellow him out.

Eliot likes that he got him there. Especially since it seems to have made Quentin eager to please, if the very competent handjob is anything to go on.

“You’re so hot, El, it drives me crazy,” Quentin murmurs, resting his head next to Eliot’s on the pillows. He twists his hand on the upstroke in a way that makes Eliot gasp and tilt his hips up. “Seriously, I didn’t know orgasms could be this good, before you. Sometimes I’ll just be going through a normal day, and then I’ll think of you, and just like that I’m hard. It can be embarrassing.”

Eliot laughs even as his heart seems to move funny in his chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, you’re fucking distracting,” Quentin says, his eyes crinkling as he smiles. Eliot takes a deep breath, trying to settle the feeling in his chest. He’s not ready to come yet, but his body is electrified, thinking of Quentin unable to control himself at thoughts of Eliot. For a moment, it’s almost overwhelming. Oblivious to the weirdness in Eliot’s head, Quentin continues to stroke him and keep up the commentary. “Especially lately, god. I love it when you order me around, like, in the bedroom or whatever. Don’t do it when we’re in company, please. God, I might not be able to help myself.”

Eliot hears a whine escape his throat before he can stop it. The thought of Quentin doing anything Eliot asks, no matter the context, is an unbearably hot one.

“You like it too, right? It’s not just me?” And then, just when Eliot’s starting to feel his orgasm drawing ever closer, Quentin’s hand stills.

“Fuck, Q. Yes, I like it. Now get me off before I resort to humping the bed instead.” He fucks up into Quentin’s somewhat-loose grip, and Quentin snaps out of it.

“Right, sorry. Are you sure this is what you want? I can suck you off--”

“I’m so close, Q, just jerk me off and keep talking.”

“Oh,” Quentin says, tightening his grip once more. He works up a quick rhythm that has Eliot right back where he’d left off, heat spreading through him as he fucks into Quentin’s fist. “Really? You like to hear me that much? Fuck, that’s hot. I don’t get it, but it’s super flattering. I could read to you, sometime, if you want. Not that you necessarily want to hear me when we’re not fucking, I’m just saying, I like to read and it’d be great to share it with you.”

Eliot grunts and grips at Quentin’s hip as his balls draw up, and then he’s coming, shouting, drowning out whatever Q is saying about reading to him as he’s overcome with white-hot pleasure. He’s a little embarrassed to have shown how obviously sexy he finds the idea of Quentin reading to him, but maybe Quentin won’t think much of it. Mostly he doesn’t care either way, because Quentin is back, and he wants Eliot more than ever. Eliot’s gonna make him talk through every orgasm from now until the end of time. _Fuck_.

Quentin meets him in a lazy kiss as he comes down. Eliot pulls him close so that their bodies are flush against one another. The funny feeling in Eliot’s chest is still there, but he ignores it in favor of savoring the sweetness of Quentin’s kisses.

Eventually, though, his body is relaxed enough that he starts yawning, the exhaustion of being woken up settling back in.

“It’s still pretty early,” Quentin says, glancing at the clock. “Maybe we should get some sleep. Okay to spell us clean?”

Eliot nods, thinking that that’s usually his job, but Quentin is already going through the motions. The chill settles over him as Quentin reaches for the comforter, pulling it up and over the two of them.

Eliot drapes his arm over Quentin as he turns around and fits his back against Eliot’s chest. Damn it all. Eliot’s going to have to contact Dom fucking Dan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Eliot learns a thing or two.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot gives Dom Dan a call. Decisions are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god, huge thanks to everyone who helped me stick with this and supported me along the way. So sorry the last chapter took so long, but I hope it's been worth it. <3

The first day Quentin heads back to work, Eliot spends his entire morning drafting an email to Dom Dan. There’s a lot of deleting and rewriting involved. Part of him wants to just call, but the potential of leaving a voicemail is _even worse_.

At the end of his note, he asks Dan to give him a call any time before 5pm on a Monday, Wednesday, or Friday. He explains that Quentin will be away at work and while he doesn’t intend to keep this a secret from him, he’d rather not force this conversation for the two of them while he’s still figuring it out for himself.

Eliot doesn’t expect his phone to ring with Dan’s number on the caller ID within the hour.

He clears his throat extra hard before answering. “Hello, Eliot Waugh,” he says, sitting up straight.

“Eliot, this is Dan,” the voice replies jovially. “I just read your email. Is now a good time to talk?”

“Sure, give me just a moment,” he says, marking his place in his planner and grabbing one of Quentin’s notepad’s from the drawer. He moves over to the couch, hoping it will help him relax. “Okay, I’ve got you on speaker, but it’s only me in the apartment. Thank you for getting back to me so quickly.”

“Not a problem. Bob gave me a heads up that you might be reaching out.” It takes Eliot a moment to parse the incongruity of ‘Bob’ with his therapist, Dr. Robert Winter. “Why don’t you tell me a little about your relationship with Quentin?”

This surprises Eliot a little, but it probably shouldn’t. Part of him expected Dan just to give him a laundry list of do’s and don’ts for Doms, but this is probably better. Unsure of where he wants to start, he takes a deep breath and comes up with, “He’s the love of my life, honestly. And I know you don’t know me, but that’s not the type of thing I say lightly. We met at Brakebills, but that’s just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to our history together. We dealt with more than your average number of life-and-death situations to make it here. And I—well, I want to do whatever I can to make him happy. And as I said in my email, I’m pretty sure this is where things are heading.”

“It sounds like you really have something special,” Dan says soothingly. He sounds older than Eliot expected, but with a confidence in his voice. Eliot can’t help but picture George Clooney. “Why don’t you elaborate a little on what you mean when you say ‘this is where things are heading’?”

Eliot swallows. Right. No reason to beat around the bush. “Well, domination. If that’s the right term? He definitely likes it when I tell him what to do, or what _not_ to do.” Eliot smiles a little. “And I like doing the telling. But…” He closes his eyes, trying to sort out his thoughts. “I’ll admit I don’t know much about the rules. I don’t want to hurt him. And I… hesitate to want to say I’m willing to _control_ him.”

Dan makes an affirming noise. “‘Control’ can have a lot of different meanings in different contexts. It sounds like you’re looking to dominate your partner in certain scenes, but perhaps not all the time?” he suggests.

Eliot breathes a sigh of relief. “Yes, exactly. Nobody would benefit from me trying to take the reins all the time. But we’ve been through a lot together, and I like to think I know him pretty well, to run a ‘scene’, as you say. And we’ve come a long way in terms of communicating what we actually want with each other.”

“Good, that’s great to hear. Let me give you a little bit of background, to help you understand the nature of the community you’re joining,” he says, and then launches into a slew of information about BDSM that Eliot probably could have looked up online, but it’s so much better to be able to ask questions and quickly dismiss which parts he’s definitely _not_ interested in pursuing.

“It seems pretty clear to me that you aren’t interested in the painplay aspect of domination,” Dan says, and Eliot makes a noise of agreement. “Humor me for a second, but what if you start down this path, and Quentin tells you he’d like that sort of thing? What if he specifically _asked_ you to hurt him?”

A small whine escapes Eliot’s mouth before he can stop it. His chest hurts just at the thought. After everything they’ve been through, the number of times he’s had to _see_ Quentin hurt, sometimes in confusing flashbacks to a time when Eliot wasn’t in control of his body, but the Monster inside was doing the hurting—he makes a noise of derision. “I couldn’t do it. Not even if he asked me. I mean, I’d be open to something mild, like spanking. We’ve… indulged in that, a little. But when it comes to really hurting him, even with safety measures in place—I’d have to tell him that I couldn’t go there.” He thinks of it in terms that Dan has used. “That’s a hard limit for me.”

“Good,” Dan says, and Eliot can’t help but feel a small spark of happiness. “You seem to have a good grasp of what you’re willing to do and not do. That’s exactly how you should approach any new kink. Talk through it together, but be true to your limits. Most of our conversation has been about what you want to do for him, but remember that you’re in this too. Most new Doms that I’ve come across make the opposite mistake; they want to take control without thinking about the consequences for their partner. For you, I’d advise you to remember your own needs. I talked briefly about subdrop, but there’s such a thing as Dom drop as well.”

“Can we talk a little about negotiation? I’m not super interested in the idea of filling out a bunch of forms.”

Dan chuckles. “There’s no need for any forms. Negotiation can be a conversation. Multiple conversations, really. You two are already in a committed, loving relationship. If you want to try something new, just start talking about it. Pay attention to what parts of the conversation get you excited, and the aspects that he likes. I had a partner for two years who had a new idea twice a week. Sometimes we’d both be really into it. Sometimes I wasn’t a fan, and that was fine. Sometimes he’d bring it up—like I said, he was full of ideas—and then realize as we talked through it that he wasn’t that interested after all. Just be honest with yourself and make sure he’s comfortable enough to be honest in return.”

They chat for a while longer, as Eliot finds new things to ask, or Dan thinks of other pieces of advice. Eliot has filled several pages in his notebook by the time they start wrapping up.

“I’m sending you some resources for further reading,” Dan says. “You’ll see the terms ‘gentle domination’ and ‘loving domination’ in most of these. These will serve you better when you’re looking for advice on corrective actions without pain.”

Eliot doesn’t get any work done that day. Mere minutes after they hang up, Dan sends him that list of links, and Eliot finds himself down a research hole, looking up new terms, frankly surprised at how little he knows about Domination and submission. He also inadvertently finds some porn listed under “gentle domination”, and that sidetracks him even further.

As the hour gets later, Eliot knows Quentin will be home soon, and he starts to feel nervous. He didn’t think to ask Dan how to broach this particular topic. It doesn’t exactly seem smart to begin with, “So I think you’d enjoy being submissive for me,” even though that’s exactly what he’s thinking.

So when Quentin gets home and Eliot meets him just inside the door for a kiss, and Quentin asks what he did today, Eliot finds himself blurting out the truth. “I actually reached out to somebody on Dr. Winter’s recommendation.”

“Oh?” Quentin asks, his eyebrows drawing together in concern. “Is anything wrong? Did they help?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Eliot says with a reassuring smile. “And yes, he helped. It was… a little bit of exploration, into something I think I’m discovering about myself. About us, maybe.” Quentin looks even more confused. “I’m doing a shit job at explaining this. Maybe we should sit down.”

Quentin goes to the couch obediently, sitting on the edge like he might decide to bolt at any moment. Eliot can see that he’s trying to remain calm, to school his expression. “You discovered something… about us?” he prompts.

Eliot joins him on the couch, wrapping an arm firmly around his shoulders and easing him back into a more comfortable position against Eliot’s chest. “I’ve made no secret of the fact that I’ve been enjoying everything we’ve tried recently, in the bedroom,” he begins, letting his voice dip low with desire. He hears Quentin’s breath catch satisfyingly and holds him closer so that he can feel the rise and fall of his chest under his hand. “Dr. Winter called it a power exchange. I prefer to think of it as me giving you suggestions, and you being very good for me.”

“Oh,” Quentin says, shifting slightly. “Who—um, who did you talk to?”

“His name is Dan. He’s an experienced Dom.” Eliot doesn’t have to wonder at Quentin’s reaction to that; he can _feel_ his heart rate pick up. “I hesitated to talk to someone else about our sex life without consulting you first, but in this case, I had to be sure that this was something I felt comfortable pursuing before I brought you into it, and that meant talking to Dan.”

Quentin snorts. “Dom Dan? Is that a stage name?” His voice is level, but Eliot can hear the nervousness in his laugh.

“I wondered the same thing, but I didn’t ask.” He cards his fingers through Quentin’s hair, stroking it soothingly. “I don’t mean to pressure you one way or another. This just seemed like something you might be interested in, and I wanted to be prepared.”

Quentin twists in his grip, pulling away just enough that they can look each other in the eye. “Is that something _you_ want?”

Eliot searches his expression, wishing he could tell more of what Quentin was thinking. But he remembers what Dan said about honesty, and tries to hold true to that. “Yes. I think we’d both enjoy it—not as a permanent arrangement, necessarily, but maybe on some nights? Dan called them ‘scenes’. But if I’m reading you wrong, if you’re not at all interested in it, then we can drop it. As I said, I’m more than happy with our sex life as it is today.”

“So, to be clear, we’re talking about me being your submissive. Right?”

“Right,” Eliot says, his heart in his throat as Quentin still seems to be puzzling it out. “Give me a sign here, Q.”

“Sorry,” Quentin says, laughing and visibly relaxing. He stands up off the couch and Eliot lets him go, already scripting out how he can backpedal over this, but then Quentin turns around and straddles him on the couch. He wraps his arms around Eliot’s shoulders as he settles on his lap, looming close. “Sorry,” he says again, “I’m just, uh, trying to make sure I’m not misreading this. I’ve… kinda been fantasizing over this sorta thing for like, a lot longer than we’ve been together,” he says, biting his lip.

Eliot raises his eyebrows as relief wends its way through his body. He settles his hands over Quentin’s hips, a position they both know all too well. “And you never brought it up because?”

“It was just a fantasy,” Quentin says, cheeks stained red. “I dunno, it kinda felt like—like asking you for that would be, y’know, asking for too much. Putting all the pressure on you. I mean, we were already kinda heading that way; I told you just last week how much I love you ordering me around. I figured formalizing it might have made it weird.”

“I love it when you get weird,” Eliot says, and finally leans forward to press their lips together. Quentin melts into him, letting Eliot set the pace of the kiss as he’s done so many times before, but it feels different now. Special. He brings a hand to the back of Quentin’s neck and kisses him deeply and intently. “I was worried about the pressure too,” he admits, tilting their foreheads together. “But I’m not anymore. Talking to someone with experience was a big help. This doesn’t really change anything between us, except that we’ll have a safeword, and we’ll probably have to talk about stuff more before we actually do it. But you know how much I love to hear you talk.”

Quentin grins at that. “When do we start?”

“Not tonight,” he says, somewhat apologetically. “Tonight I need to drink a bottle of wine and _not_ have to worry about terms and rules and whether or not you’re right to trust me.”

“I will always trust you,” Quentin says, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “We can still fuck though, right? Because I don’t think I can move on to dinner like it’s no big deal; just _talking_ about this has me ready to go.”

Eliot slides his hand down from Quentin’s hip to his ass and rolls his hips up to show Quentin how he’s very much in the same situation. “Yes, Q. I’d never leave you hard and dry.”

Quentin rolls his eyes even as he pulls on Eliot’s hand to lead him to the bedroom.

***

A few nights later, Eliot sits up straight on the couch as he feels the wards shift, welcoming Quentin home. He forces himself to relax seconds later before Quentin pushes the door open and then spots him, immediately stopping in his tracks.

Eliot had dressed with purpose today—leaning back on his old favorite outfits that he knows now always drove Quentin wild—the combination of slacks, sleek button-down, waistcoat and tie that he’d favored in their shared time at Brakebills. His wardrobe now leans a little more heavily on influence from Fillory—fancy brocade, tunics that remind him of the mosaic—but he was feeling nostalgic today, and thought the callback might fit with their newest first. He watches Quentin take it all in, eyes sweeping over his body and then focusing on perhaps the most telling detail—the wine glass in Eliot’s hand is more for style than substance, as it’s filled only with water.

“It’s tonight?” Quentin asks, kicking the door closed and eagerly dropping his messenger bag.

“It’s tonight,” Eliot confirms, patting the space next to him on the couch. “Come sit.”

He pours Quentin his own glass of water as he gets settled, nervously kicking off his shoes and moving in against Eliot’s side. Eliot meets Quentin in a soft kiss, curling an arm around him as he hands over the glass. “Good day?”

“Boring day. No need to talk about it. How was _your_ day? Did you make _plans_?”

“Oh, I have _plans_ ,” Eliot says, his voice deep. “But avoiding my question is no way to get things moving. That’s probably a good note for our entire evening.”

Quentin shudders a little and gulps his water. “I mean, it really was boring. That Knowledge kid, Stephen, tried to dominate the class again with questions about the ‘intricacies of object permanence and how it relates to mending.’ I hate that kid.”

“You don’t hate him,” Eliot reminds him, running his hand soothingly between his shoulder blades. “You do probably need to put him in his place, though. You still don’t know whose attention he’s trying to get?”

Quentin shakes his head. “I thought maybe Marie, she seems to tolerate him at least. But when she tried to contribute to his point today he cut her off.”

Eliot hums contemplatively. “It’s really starting to sound like he’s trying to impress _you_.”

Quentin rolls his eyes. “You think most of my students have a crush on me.”

“Most of them probably _do_. It’s not like I’d expect you to see it. You weren’t exactly observant about my feelings the first couple of times around.”

Quentin huffs into his glass, letting the subject drop. Eliot watches his throat work as he finishes up the water.

“Very good,” Eliot says, reaching for his glass. “You want more?”

“No, I’m good,” Quentin says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He folds his legs up onto the couch and leans more firmly against Eliot. “How was your day?”

“I got about an hour of work done before I got distracted. You ready to hear about these plans?”

“Yes please,” Quentin says with a gleeful smile.

“Remember, these are just ideas. This is the time for you to speak up if you have questions, or want to avoid or change something. Once we start the scene, I’m going to rely on each yes you give me now to guide me.”

“I know, I read all the articles you sent me,” Quentin says, still grinning widely.

“Okay, well you don’t have to be a smartass about it,” Eliot says, grinning back. “Close your eyes for me.” Quentin does, his body relaxing against Eliot. “To start off, I’m going to get you naked, and then put you on your knees. When I’m ready, you can suck my cock. I don’t want you to touch yourself; that’s for me. Any objections so far?”

Quentin whines, his lips parted and eyes remaining hooded as he opens them to look back at Eliot and shake his head.

“Good,” Eliot says, petting over his hair. “After that, we’ll take it to the bedroom. I’ll get you ready to take my cock; I’ll decide just what that looks like depending on how good you’ve been.” Quentin’s cheeks redden under Eliot’s watchful gaze. “Then I’ll sink into this gorgeous body of yours. I’ll let you know if or when you’re allowed to come.”

“If?” Quentin echoes with the smallest pout. Eliot reaches out his finger to pull his lower lip out of the pout, and Quentin leans forward, sucking Eliot’s finger into his mouth.

“That’s right,” Eliot says, pulling his finger back and pushing it in once more, letting Quentin curl his tongue around it. “Better make sure you do as I ask, if you wanna come tonight.” Quentin moans, his lips falling open to make it easy for Eliot to slip two fingers inside. He slides them slowly over the soft warmth of Quentin’s tongue, indulging for a moment before he has to correct them both. “You know, we’re not supposed to make things sexual until we’ve agreed on the scene,” he reminds Quentin. That was in the fourth article.

“Sorry,” Quentin says, backing off of his fingers. “It all sounds great. Honestly, it doesn’t sound much different from the stuff we usually do.”

“It’s not,” Eliot agrees. “This is a first for me. I figured it might be more difficult for me to fuck up if we stuck pretty close to our usual script.”

“You’re not going to fuck up. You’re going to be amazing. And I know my safeword if I need to use it.”

“Remind me of it,” Eliot instructs.

“Lava lamp,” Quentin says obediently. It sounds less ridiculous than it had the first time, and Quentin’s right, they’re unlikely to use it in any other context than this one.

“Very good,” Eliot says, sliding his hand inside the open collar of Quentin’s shirt. “And when I check in with you?”

“Stoplight system. Green for go, yellow to slow down, red for stop.”

Eliot nods. “Anything else to ask or request before we get started?”

Quentin takes a deep breath. “No, not really. Just—thank you. For trying this.”

“It’s more than my pleasure, baby,” Eliot says, leaning in to kiss him. “Now, relax for me. Close your eyes; let me work on these buttons.”

He moves down to the bottom set first, unbuttoning until he can slide his hands over the plane of Quentin’s stomach, digging his fingers in at the notches of his hips to make Quentin gasp. Next he moves back up, sliding two more buttons free from the top, ghosting a touch over Quentin’s collarbones. Finally, he frees the middle set, running his hands over Quentin’s chest intently as he lets the shirt fall away. Quentin moans and arches into his touch and, hardly thinking, Eliot says, “Hips down,” and feels a rush of pleasure as Quentin jerkily moves back to do as he’s instructed.

“Open your eyes,” Eliot says, and then, “Kiss me.” Quentin whines as he leans forward, stretching until his lips meet Eliot’s, and then Eliot moves in, instantly deepening the kiss and making Quentin more comfortable. He slides the shirt over Quentin’s shoulders and pulls it free, draping it over the couch without breaking their kiss.

“Can I—” Quentin mumbles, hardly daring to pull out of the kiss. Eliot sits back enough to let him speak. “Can I touch you?”

Eliot quirks his mouth to the side as he thinks it over. He’s got a fairly pressing image of getting Quentin naked while he stays fully clothed, but he supposes he could deal with getting a little rumpled, for Quentin’s sake. “You can touch what you can reach,” he decides. “But my clothes stay on.”

Quentin gives a happy little shudder as his hands come up to Eliot’s waist over his waistcoat. Quentin’s hands roam as they continue to make out, pushing at Eliot’s tight clothing and becoming noticeably frustrated when he can’t get very far. In the next moment, Quentin cups over Eliot’s cock with one hand, not too insistent, so Eliot chooses to let him touch for now. But he’s doing something else with his other hand, his fingers no longer pressing at the skin along Eliot’s waistband. Eliot is just about to reach for his hand when Quentin inhales sharply and attempts to shove his hand down Eliot’s pants, despite the perfectly-snug restriction of his belt.

“Q—” Eliot says in a warning tone, sitting back.

“You said whatever I could reach!” Quentin complains, but he moves his hands limply to the couch in reticence.

“Hmm, so I need to be stricter with you, is what I’m hearing.” Eliot laughs, leaning back into Quentin’s space. “Hands above the belt. You’ll get to spend plenty of time focusing on my cock soon enough.”

Given his new parameters, Quentin buries his fingers in Eliot’s hair as soon as they fall together again, Eliot biting at Quentin’s lower lip to make him moan. Eliot never tires of kissing Quentin. The way his lips feel, always soft and pliant. How he opens so easily for Eliot, welcoming a deeper kiss. The way his brilliant tongue fits against Eliot’s, silky smooth and always full of promise. By the time Eliot backs out of the kiss, they’re both breathing heavily.

“Hands at your sides,” Eliot instructs softly, and Quentin quickly complies. Eliot slides from his lap to the floor, folding his legs under him as Quentin watches him, rapt. Eliot removes Quentin’s shoes carefully, placing them both next to him before floating them telekinetically to their usual spot by the door. He does his socks next, and after removing the first one, Quentin wiggles his toes against Eliot’s wrist. Eliot raises his eyebrows as he looks up at Quentin.

“You said whatever I could reach above the belt,” Quentin insists. “I am not disobeying _or_ going against the spirit of your instructions.”

Eliot slips the other sock free and lays it carefully atop the other. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?” he says, fitting his hand behind Quentin’s calf and lifting it so he can press a kiss to his ankle. “Just stay still for a minute.”

And Quentin does, tensing slightly as Eliot sits up on his knees and goes for his belt, but keeping very still otherwise. Eliot removes the belt methodically and circles it around Quentin’s socks before reaching for Quentin’s fly. Eliot looks up at him as he slides the button free, and Quentin stares back, his arousal clear on his face—cheeks flushed, eyes wide, lips parted and extremely kissable. Eliot holds his gaze as he slides the zipper down, and Quentin’s eyes dip down to try to see his hands. Eliot slides his hands over Quentin’s skin to his hips, hooking his fingers into the band of his underwear and slacks. “Lift up,” he says softly, and slides both down and off when Quentin complies.

Eliot takes his time drinking in the sight of him, from his flushed face to his heaving chest, over his cock—mostly hard despite Eliot’s refusal to touch it so far—to the satisfying contour of his thighs. “El,” Quentin whimpers, then immediately bites his lip, looking worried.

“You can talk to me, baby,” Eliot assures him, and the relief is immediately evident in Quentin’s expression. Eliot tries not to dwell on his first fuckup, so early in the game. “You can always talk to me, unless I explicitly tell you otherwise.”

“I didn’t know if ‘stay still’—”

“No, I get it. I’ll be more clear next time,” Eliot says, petting over Quentin’s thighs. “Scooch forward for me.”

Quentin pushes himself forward until his ass is perched on the edge of the couch, and his cock is in easy reach from Eliot’s mouth. “I don’t know if I’m gonna make it all the way to you fucking me,” Quentin says, nearly breathless.

“You will,” Eliot states. “Think you can keep still for another minute? Maybe two?”

Quentin swallows thickly. “I can.”

“Good. Do. I want to hear you, though.” And with that, he shifts forward and circles his fingers around the base of Quentin’s cock, guiding the head over his lips. He stays like that for a moment, tongue darting forward in a tease, paying close attention to Quentin’s body. He’s cursing softly, his voice incredibly needy, but the rest of his body stays as still as can be expected. “Mm,” Eliot says, pressing the hum of it against Quentin’s cockhead. “You’re so good for me,” he adds, then sinks down over Quentin’s length, bringing him into his mouth to nudge against his soft palate. He doesn’t take him deeper, not yet. This is just a teaser, a reward for following along with Eliot so far. A reward for both of them, if he’s honest. The noises falling from Quentin’s lips as Eliot continues to move over his cock are as much of a prize for Eliot as what he’s doing for Quentin. He builds up a rhythm, automatically going for everything he knows Quentin likes, until—

“ _Eliot_. God, I—I want to be so good for you, but all this buildup—your mouth, your tongue, your fucking _everything_ —I think—I _don’t_ think—”

Eliot pulls off with a satisfying pop. “Too close too soon?” he gathers from Quentin’s babbling, and from how tense his thighs feel under Eliot’s palms.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Quentin says, relieved. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. You told me, and you haven’t come yet. You kept still the whole time, just like I asked. You’re doing great,” he says, squeezing at Quentin’s ankle. “How about we switch positions?”

“Fuck yes,” Quentin agrees, going to his knees so perfectly as Eliot gets settled on the couch.

Eliot reaches out to tuck Quentin’s hair behind his ears. “This is probably a good time for a check in, yeah?”

Quentin hums in agreement. “Green,” he says, turning to press a kiss against Eliot’s wrist. Eliot’s chest aches with the love he feels for Quentin right in this moment. So beautiful and eager to do anything Eliot asks. So _trusting_. There’s a rush in Eliot’s ears that he knows he has to get through. He focuses on what they talked about, mere minutes ago. They have a plan.

“D’you remember this part of the plan?”

Quentin nods. “You said I could suck your cock… when you’re ready.”

“That’s right, baby. I don’t know if I’m ready yet, though. Are you comfortable down there?”

Quentin sinks back on his haunches, giving the question the serious consideration Eliot was looking for. He’s so proud of him, it’s absurd. “Maybe a pillow to put under my knees? We waited way too long to start doing that at the mosaic, and I don’t want those same knee problems when I get old.”

Eliot chuckles, acknowledging the truth of that as he floats over the perfect sized pillow from the armchair. “Very good,” he says as Quentin gets comfortable on top of the pillow. “Never hesitate to ask for what you want, okay? I might say no, but I’ll only do it if I have a good reason.”

Quentin is practically preening. “ _God_ , I’m just—You’re so good to me.”

“It’s just a pillow, Q.”

“You know it’s not,” Quentin says defiantly.

“Alright, settle down. I’m gonna focus on work for a bit. You just kneel there and look pretty.”

Despite his words, Eliot doesn’t focus on work right away. He types absently in his Notes app as he thinks about how this is going so far. A lot of the things he’d been worried about have gone surprisingly smoothly, though he credits most of that to Quentin. All of the rules and suggestions that he’d been afraid about forgetting or getting caught up in faded to the background when he was in the moment with Q. The only thing that mattered was taking care of him.

Satisfied with that, he exits the Notes app and opens his work email, beginning a draft for a local venue. He’s just finishing up the first of three emails when Quentin starts fidgeting.

“Eliot?” Quentin asks. Eliot hums in return. “Can I have some water?”

“Sure you can, baby,” Eliot says, waving his fingers to float his water pitcher and Quentin’s glass down next to Quentin. “Feel free to serve yourself.”

He watches out of the corner of his eye as Quentin fumbles with the pitcher without moving from the pillow. Technically Eliot hadn’t said he couldn’t move, but Quentin returns to his position once he’s had his water, with his arms resting over his thighs.

“How are you feeling, sweet boy?” he asks, setting his phone aside.

Quentin bites his lip on a smile. “I mean, kinda weird? Like it’s a little strange to be here naked while you’re up there texting, but like. It’s also nice because I know I’m doing what you want. I usually can’t just sit in silence without slowly going crazy, but this is different. Calm, but also exciting.”

“That’s good to hear,” Eliot says, leaning forward to slide his fingers through Quentin’s hair. Quentin leans into the touch, looking serene. “I still have a couple more emails to send, but I can handle them with a little distraction. What do you think, have you been good enough to deserve a reward?”

Quentin’s eyes go round and hopeful. “I haven’t moved except when you told me I could. I haven’t touched myself; I’m waiting for you.”

Eliot smiles, still stroking his hair. “That’s good. It doesn’t answer my question, though. Do you think you deserve a reward?”

Quentin hesitates. “I… yes. I mean—I do. I’ll make it worth it, whatever you decide.”

“A reward is for _you_ , sweetheart,” Eliot points out, his heart so full the endearments fall from his lips without hesitation. “What would you like?”

Quentin squirms a little as he thinks it over. Eliot waits patiently. “Well, you said I could suck you when you were ready, but you’re not hard anymore. Maybe… if you want, I could touch you, over your clothes? That wouldn’t break any of the rules, right? I could make you feel good, and it would make me feel good too.”

“That sounds lovely,” Eliot says earnestly. “Why don’t you come up here and kneel next to me? That way you can reach whatever your heart desires.”

Quentin stretches as he stands, and Eliot purposely avoids looking at him. He can practically feel Quentin’s frustration that his attention-seeking hadn’t worked as he moves to his knees on the couch.

“Can I kiss you?” Quentin asks, almost whispering.

Eliot smiles. “I will always welcome your lips on my body, but remember, light distraction. I won’t be ready to give you my full attention until I get these work emails done.” It’s not entirely true; Quentin’s got as close to his full attention as possible while he still has enough thought to type out a form email to a couple more venues. Still, he thinks it’s a good scene for the two of them to get comfortable with the rules of it all.

Quentin is hesitant at first, skimming his fingers over Eliot’s arms, his chest, up to play with his hair. He gets a little bolder, leaning in to kiss at his neck as his hands travel further down.

“I always wanted to see you rumpled up in these clothes,” Quentin says. “Especially by my own hands. I remember in first year, I’d fantasize about making a move on you. Imagined what it would be like to throw you off your game for once.”

Quentin presses a kiss to the base of Eliot’s jaw, and when the satisfying _whoosh_ sounds of the first email being sent, Eliot turns his head to capture those lips with his own. Quentin gasps a little, not expecting it, and Eliot takes the moment to lean in and kiss him deeply. He doesn’t linger though, quickly turning back to his phone to type out the other email.

He doesn’t miss the stuttered stop of Quentin’s groping, and he smiles to himself to know that a simple kiss from him can derail Quentin so quickly and thoroughly. Soon enough he’s back at it, his touches bolder as he cups Eliot’s cock over his slacks, fingers angled down to trace over his balls. If he had somehow missed it before, he certainly knows now that Eliot isn’t wearing underwear. And Eliot’s dick is certainly responding to the situation, thickening up against Quentin’s palm as he slides it methodically over the material. “Remember, not too distracting,” Eliot reminds him, speaking carefully so as not to betray how turned on he is by a naked Quentin feeling him up so intently.

Quentin backs off a little, hand still resting over Eliot’s cock, but shifting his focus instead to sucking a mark into Eliot’s neck. It’s only marginally less distracting, but Eliot isn’t too concerned with how intelligent he sounds in this email, so he gets through the last _look forward to hearing an estimate from you_ , and sends the second email off.

Quentin goes still at the accompanying _whoosh_ this time, clearly having paid attention. Eliot holds his phone in hand for an extra minute anyway, just to see what he’ll do. The hand over Eliot’s cock starts moving again, the heel of his palm running up Eliot’s length and then rubbing steadily at the head, obvious now through the thin barrier of his pants.

Eliot lets himself fall into another kiss, reaching out to stroke Quentin’s cock in return. He’s somewhat surprised to find him still hard, shuddering at Eliot’s touch. “You ready to move back between my legs?”

“Yes please,” Quentin says, blushing. Eliot scoots to the edge of the couch as Quentin gets back into position on his pillow. He unsnaps his belt and slides it free, setting it aside before looking down at Quentin. He could get lost in this picture, the swoop of Quentin’s eyelashes as he stares up at him from the floor, flushed and waiting with his cock standing at attention.

“Why don’t you get started with your mouth? No hands. Over the clothes.” Quentin moans at the idea, slipping his hands behind his back and already leaning forward. “That’s it,” Eliot says, pulling his bottom lip under his teeth as Quentin nudges up against the ridge of Eliot’s cock through his slacks, mouthing at the shaft.

Eliot’s too impatient to settle with the tease for very long, but he loves how dedicated Quentin is, licking over the material as if it were just another part of Eliot’s cock. He doesn’t seem to be bothered by it, at least, working his mouth to form an impressive wet spot that highlights Eliot’s cock, straining up to meet him. “Let me make things easier for you,” Eliot eventually says, unbuttoning, unzipping, and shifting until he can pull his cock out, pushing it forward against Quentin’s lips. “Mm, yeah. You look so good there, baby.”

Quentin moans, running his tongue along the underside of Eliot’s cock. Eliot hums his approval, leaning back and leaving Quentin to what he does best. Well, one of the things he does best. Top five for sure.

He misses Quentin’s finesse before long, what his hands can do in tandem with his mouth, so he mutters permission for Quentin to use everything at his disposal. Quentin doesn’t hesitate, rolling his balls in one hand moments later as he sinks down over Eliot, taking him to the back of his throat. Eliot moans loudly, fitting his fingers into Quentin’s hair and gripping tightly with a pressure he knows Quentin loves.

Quentin’s mouth is heavenly, and Eliot praises him without hesitation, letting him know just how amazing he feels under Quentin’s focus. “You know I’ve been thinking about this all day? Getting your mouth on me. I wouldn’t even have to give you an order. As long as the rules allowed it, you’d be on my cock, wouldn’t you baby?” Quentin moans in agreement. “ _Fuck_. Yeah.”

He could come like this. It would feel so good, and then he could work Quentin up in his own way before getting him off, and Quentin would forgive him for ending the scene sooner than planned. But that’s not what he promised. And he’s actually loving this—even if it’s slightly overwhelming—being in charge, fearing that he’ll miss a cue and push against Quentin’s limits.

“Okay, baby,” he says, tugging gently at Quentin’s hair. “You should probably stop there for now.” Quentin pulls off, but not before leaving a long, lingering swipe of his tongue over Eliot’s cockhead. Eliot huffs. “I’m quickly learning to phrase everything as an order if I don’t want you to try to defy it.”

Quentin smiles beatifically, settling back on his haunches. His lips are red and swollen and incredibly kissable.

“Go get on the bed for me, on your hands and knees. Then close your eyes.” Quentin scrambles to his feet, making up for his lack of finesse with his enthusiasm. “Wait,” Eliot adds, and Quentin immediately freezes, only a few steps away. He looks back at Eliot, the slightest tinge of worry in his expression. Eliot smiles reassuringly, standing up to meet him, dropping a sweet kiss against his lips. “Didn't want to let you go without that. Give me a color?”

Quentin rolls his eyes even as he grins. “Green. Dork.”

“Go,” Eliot says, smacking him on the ass for good measure. “Don’t forget to keep your eyes closed.”

Eliot gives him a minute to get settled before he follows him into the room, appreciating the view as he stands at the foot of the bed and takes his time unbuttoning his waistcoat. When he removes his tie pin and sends it to the bedside table telekinetically, he sees Quentin flinch slightly. “Relax, baby,” he says softly. “You look beautiful, waiting for me. Tell me how you’re feeling.”

“Is it okay to say impatient?” Quentin asks, shifting on his knees a bit.

“It is,” Eliot says, smiling as he removes his tie. “I want you to be honest with me, sweet boy.”

“Honestly, I feel really fucking good, I’m just dying for you to touch me. Like I get why we go over the scene beforehand, but it just adds to the massive fucking tease.”

Eliot hums, loud enough for Quentin to hear that he’s thinking it over. “What if I told you that you could touch yourself?”

Quentin is quiet for a moment. “You said that’s for you.”

“Good answer,” Eliot says, and rather than finish removing his shirt, he gives himself a little telekinetic lift, floating to the side of the bed silently and reaching between Quentin’s legs to grip at his cock. Quentin yelps his surprise, his cheeks reddening instantly as Eliot begins to stroke him, spreading the precome at the tip over his length. In a whisper, he says, “Remember, it’s okay to ask for what you want.”

“Yes, sir,” Quentin says without prompting, and they both jolt a little at the ease of his deference. Eliot moans, letting his feet touch the floor so he can focus more on working Quentin’s dick, pulling desperate little sounds from him as he moves.

“Still got your eyes closed?” he asks, though he could easily tilt his head and see from this angle.

“Of course.”

“Good. I’m gonna finish getting undressed. Just hold tight for me for another minute, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Quentin says again, this time with more weight. Eliot presses a kiss to his shoulder before moving away. Feeling a little bit giddy now, he makes short work of his shirt and pants, folding them over the chair by the bed before climbing in behind Quentin. He can practically feel the heat radiating off Quentin’s body as he waits to be touched again.

“How worked up are you?” he asks, leaning forward to squeeze at Quentin’s shoulders and then drag his hands down the expanse of his back until they rest over his ass. “And how worked up do you wanna be before I get inside you?”

“ _Oh god_ ,” Quentin says, pushing his ass back into Eliot’s hands. “Whatever you wanna give me, I can take it.”

Eliot laughs, a pleased rumble in his chest as he massages his palms over Quentin’s ass. “I’m gonna remind you of that when you’re desperate for me, shouting about how you can’t wait any longer, how you have to come. But you won’t, will you? Not before I say.”

Quentin shudders beneath his touch. “Not until you say,” Quentin affirms.

Satisfied with that answer, Eliot works his way through their prep spells, running a soothing hand down Quentin’s side as the discomfort of the cleaning spell washes over him, then finishing off with an application of the lube spell in his left hand. He settles back on the bed, pulling at the muscle of Quentin’s ass with his right hand and licking a long stripe over his hole at the same time that he reaches around to fist Quentin’s dick.

“ _Oh, jesus fucking christ_ ,” Quentin blurts out, jerking up and back into Eliot’s touch.

“Yeah?” Eliot asks, brushing his thumb over Quentin’s hole.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Quentin breathes. “Please, El.”

“What do you want?”

“Your tongue, your fingers, _anything_ ,” he says, pushing his hips forward to slide his cock through Eliot’s grip and then back to beg for more attention to his ass.

“I’ll give you my tongue, but only if you sit still, baby boy.” Quentin does, but not without a little whine. Eliot waits a moment, squeezing at the base of Quentin’s cock, but Quentin doesn’t put up more of a fuss. “That’s it, let me take care of you. I’ve got you.”

He finds a good balance that doesn’t push on Quentin too hard and leans in, teasing his tongue over Quentin’s skin, around but not inside, as he strokes his cock slowly. He hears another whine from Quentin and fights against a smile; sometimes Quentin is too predictable. He presses his tongue flat against his hole, laving at the skin as his strokes get bolder, and then he _feels_ Quentin’s all-over shudder when he shifts gears and presses inside. Quentin’s body responds eagerly, welcoming him inside as Quentin’s moans fill the room. He’s careful not to get too carried away with his hand on Quentin’s cock, knowing they have more ground yet to cover. But he doesn’t hold back with his tongue, plunging into him until he’s writhing, begging for more. Eventually, Eliot grants this request, releasing Quentin’s cock but shifting back to gather more lube into his hand and press a finger in alongside his tongue. He takes the sounds Quentin’s making as signs of approval and works his way in further, letting Quentin adjust to the intrusion.

“Let me hear from you, baby,” Eliot murmurs against the small of his back as he shifts up, pressing in with two fingers.

“ _Nngh_ ,” Quentin says. “You expect me to be coherent?”

“Not coherent, just vocal,” Eliot says, grinning.

“I— _fuck_ ,” Quentin says, cutting himself off quickly as Eliot’s fingers glide over his prostate. “You’re going to kill me. Right here in this bed.”

“What a way to go, though,” Eliot says, squeezing at Quentin’s ass with his free hand while he fucks him with the fingers of the other.

“I’d prefer to have your cock in me one last time, though,” Quentin bites, already impatient, working his hips to try to take Eliot’s fingers faster.

“Careful,” Eliot warns, loving the impatience and the way Quentin keeps pushing, looking for that line. He’s never been more sure about what they’re doing. “Unless you’d rather not be allowed to come tonight.”

Quentin whines again, a sound which is quickly becoming music to Eliot’s ears.

“I didn’t say be quiet,” Eliot says, soft but stern.

“What happened to asking for what I want?” Quentin says grumpily.

“There’s a difference between asking and demanding, and I believe I asked you to stay still,” Eliot points out. “Besides, we already established I’d be getting my cock inside you, didn’t we? Do you expect me not to keep my promises?”

“No,” Quentin says, worry leaking into his voice. “I mean—yes, whichever— _fuck_ , of course I expect you to keep your promises. I didn’t—”

“Shh,” Eliot says, pushing down on his panic as he realizes he may have pushed Quentin too far. “That’s good. You’re doing great. Daddy just needs to know you’re paying attention.”

“I am, I’ll be good,” Quentin says, and Eliot pets at his hip as he pulls out two fingers and comes back with three.

“That’s right. You’re so good for me, aren’t you? I can’t wait to sink my dick into this tight hole. I’m so hard for you already, and all these beautiful noises from you keep going straight to my dick. It’s gonna be so good, baby.”

“Want it,” Quentin says, his thighs quivering.

“I’m gonna give it to you so soon, sweet boy. How do you want it?”

“Is it—fuck—’s it like, against the rules of kink if we go missionary? I just— _really_ wanna see you.”

“Nothing’s against the rules unless I say so,” Eliot says, something warm and sentimental filling him up, making his heart beat faster. He pulls his fingers out and adds, “Flip over for me.”

Quentin shifts, stacking up two pillows against the headboard before he moves to his back. With his eyes big and round as he looks up at Eliot, he asks, “Can I have a kiss?”

Eliot arches a brow. “Can I trust you not to escalate it to more than a kiss without my permission?”

Quentin looks chastised even though he hadn’t done anything—yet. “Yeah, okay,” he says petulantly.

Eliot laughs as he crawls over Quentin’s body. “You’re a brat, you know that?”

“You love it,” Quentin says, and Eliot doesn’t argue with him. He kisses him slowly and luxuriously, savoring the slide of his mouth and the desperation in every movement.

“That’s right, you’re my brat, aren’t you?” Eliot murmurs as he pulls back.

“Yours,” Quentin says, keening as Eliot slips his fingers back inside. He summons a condom with his other hand, starting to feel some urgency about getting inside Quentin. They both stare at it in his hand; they should definitely talk soon about getting all the necessary magical tests so they can dispense with this precaution, but now is not the time.

“Ready for me?” Eliot asks, palming the condom as he sits back.

“God, so ready,” Quentin says, watching with rapt attention as Eliot opens and rolls on the condom. “I’ve been good for you, right? You’re gonna let me come?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Eliot says, grinning wickedly. “That has yet to be determined.” He slicks himself up and settles between Quentin’s splayed legs, holding his gaze. “Guess you’ll just have to keep being good for me.”

Quentin huffs, snapping his mouth shut. His pout is adorable.

“What, nothing to say?”

“I’m keeping my mouth shut so you don’t have any excuses not to get inside me,” Quentin snips with a glare.

Eliot palms the back of his thigh to move it into position and nudges the head of his cock against Quentin’s hole, making him gasp. “Good boy,” he says softly, and starts to push his way inside.

Sinking his cock into Quentin’s ass never fails to short out Eliot’s higher brain function—not just the intoxicating grip of him, but the way his whole body responds to Eliot. Especially when they do it like this, where he can see from every gasp and twitch of Quentin’s expression how much he loves it—Eliot filling him up.

He takes his time, practically shaking with the need to _move_ , but knowing how good it’s gonna be with Quentin relaxed and ready to take the whole of him. When he’s fully seated, rocking his hips minutely, he reaches out to stroke Quentin’s hair and says, “Check in with me, baby.”

Quentin looks half-drunk as his eyes flutter open. “I’m good. Like, really good.”

Eliot smiles. “Give me a color?”

“Oh, right. Green.”

“I’m gonna move now. You can touch me, okay? Just relax. It’s gonna be so good.”

“It already is,” Quentin says, placing a hand in the center of Eliot’s chest, making his breath catch with his look of unbridled affection. With a look like that, Eliot can’t help but lean down and kiss him as he starts to move, the two of them moaning their pleasure into each other’s mouths at the glorious slide of it. Pulling out of the kiss, Eliot pushes up on his hands and finds a better angle, making Quentin writhe with every shift of his hips.

“Jesus _fuck_ , I already feel close,” Quentin says. Eliot’s not surprised to hear it, with the way Quentin’s cock has been leaking steadily onto his belly.

“You can do it, baby. Remember when you held out for eight days? This is nothing.”

“God, that is not at all the same. You weren’t _actively fucking me_ for eight days,” Quentin gripes, and Eliot’s eyebrows shoot up. “That was _not_ a suggestion, fuck.”

“Don’t even—try to pretend—that you wouldn’t love that,” Eliot manages, his breath coming short as he fucks Quentin with abandon.

“I would occasionally need breaks for food and water. And to _come_ ,” he adds with a glare.

Despite his posturing, Eliot knows Quentin can’t be too worried about coming yet, not with his current composure. He shifts to get a hand on Quentin’s cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts until Quentin is arching his back, whining and grabbing at Eliot’s shoulders. He moves away before it can get too intense, rubbing his thumb over a nipple, down his side, giving him a chance to calm down. “You look beautiful, baby,” Eliot murmurs.

“Fuck, it’s so good,” Quentin says, tears pricking at his eyes. Before Eliot can ask, Quentin adds, “Green, I’m so green, please don’t stop.”

Eliot’s not sure if he could, at this point. He can feel the building heat at the base of his spine as he fucks into Quentin’s perfect, tight body, and when he reaches for Quentin’s cock again, Quentin practically shouts.

“ _Please_ , El, I’m so close,” Quentin whines, his fingers scrabbling at Eliot’s forearms. “Please let me? You love it when I come on your cock.”

“I do,” Eliot says with a staccato laugh, snapping his hips and sliding his hand up Quentin’s chest, away from his cock. “But I also love it when you’re desperate for me, so I’m all set.”

Quentin groans. Eliot will never get over the rush of seeing him like this, completely wrecked and needy, denying himself what he really wants because Eliot told him to wait.

“I’m so proud of you, baby,” Eliot says reverently, and Quentin’s cheeks seem to redden further. “You get me so hot. You wanna get me there?”

“Yeah, _please_ , wanna make you come,” Quentin says, eyes wide as he works his hips, taking Eliot in deep.

“You know what I really need? I need you to come for me, sweet boy,” Eliot says, sliding his hand down Quentin’s chest. The moment he gets Quentin’s cock in hand, Quentin arches into it, moaning loudly. “Please, baby, come for me.”

Quentin’s already there before Eliot finishes his sentence, shooting over his own chest and crying out with pleasure. The clench of him over Eliot’s cock is nearly overwhelming, but Eliot holds off, stroking Quentin tightly as his orgasm washes over him.

“That’s it, _god_ , you feel amazing. You’re gonna make me come.”

“Please, _please_ , I want it,” Quentin says, as desperately as he’d begged for his own orgasm, and Eliot can’t hold back any longer. He fucks his way over the edge and sinks into Quentin, lost in the perfect grip of him as his orgasm washes over him. He’s still riding the high of it when Quentin pushes up on his elbows, capturing Eliot’s mouth in a heated kiss. Eliot moans and responds in kind, clutching onto Quentin as he lets himself collapse.

“Give me one minute. Maybe less,” Eliot says, pulling out carefully and moving quickly to the bathroom to get rid of the condom and grab the towel he’d purposefully kept warm all evening. He comes back and stretches out beside Quentin, cleaning them both off with a quick tut, but then following up with the softness of the warm towel, making Quentin moan and shift lazily into his touch.

“Holy shit, El,” Quentin says when Eliot is done, rolling onto him and burying his face in his neck. Eliot’s arm goes around him easily, tucking him in close to his side. “That was amazing.”

“ _You_ were amazing,” Eliot says, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He floats the blanket at the foot of the bed toward himself until he can pull it the rest of the way over them with his hand. “Never would’ve guessed you were holding back just how much of a brat you could be.”

“Oh god. Was it too much?” Quentin asks, burrowing into him further.

Eliot smooths a hand down his back. “Not at all. It made it more fun, trying to stay one step ahead of you. You seemed to be having fun.”

“Yeah,” Quentin says, easing his posture. Eliot can see his face from the corner of his eye when he continues, “I can’t explain it. Having a set of rules to play within was just—something I didn’t even realize how much I wanted.”

“That’s good,” Eliot says, moving back just enough to meet Quentin’s eye. “Definitely seems like something we’d both like to keep trying, yeah?”

“Oh, fuck yes,” Quentin says, eyes going wide.

Eliot grins, pulling Quentin into another kiss. “Keep a catalog of all your advanced fantasies, baby. We’ve got the rest of our lives to work our way through them all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have at _least_ two sequels well underway. Next up: trying out some toys.
> 
> Your comments are always wonderful and appreciated! Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> This particular fic will act as a stand-alone, never getting much kinkier than edging, toys, and D/s exploration. Future installments at the Series level will explore other kinks that may or may not be in your wheelhouse. Feel free to subscribe accordingly. ;)
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please consider leaving a comment!


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